


The Points in Death

by bela013



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 18:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bela013/pseuds/bela013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Catelyn - the Kübler-Ross model / the five stages of grief</p>
<p>Written for buriedbooks at <a href="http://got-exchange.livejournal.com/">got_exchange on LiveJournal</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Points in Death

**Denial**  
  
This couldn't be happening. He was her husband to be, the future Lord of Winterfell, he can't be dead.  
  
Yes, that's the answer, Bran wasn't dead. No her Bran, strong and charming Bran. This must be one of his japes.  
  
She remembered his smile, and the way his grey eyes shone like liquid silver. Her Bran couldn't be dead.  
  
Now she is to marry his brother like he never even existed. Didn't they know this was only a prank from Bran? And such a cruel prank at that.  
  
A silver cloak was being fastened around her shoulder as her eyes drifted around, looking for Bran. Surely he would appear before his brother claimed her as his wife.  
  
Years will pass. She'll learn to love her husband. She'll have her children. She'll have a Bran of her own again.  
  
He'll look like a Tully for the rest, but in her eyes, he'll always have the same spark her Brandon used to have.  
  
He'll be all over Winterfell. Its rooftops, its weirwood, its towers. In those moments, she liked to believe that Brandon was back from his prank. All alive, all smiles.  
  
In her heart, he's still alive, always alive. With the smile she last saw from him, still in his face. Never dead, never gone.  
  
  
 **Anger**  
  
Why did it have to be yet another Bran? Were all her Brans doomed? Why had the gods allowed her son to fall?  
  
His hand was tiny in hers as she took turns from cursing the gods to praying for them to give back her son. She even prayed to the Old Gods, hoping that they could scare the Stranger away from her Bran.  
  
She wanted him back, she wanted him climbing all over Winterfell. She wanted her Bran!  
  
She hated herself for ever wishing to keep her son with her. Bran was better at King's Landing than-  
  
No, she couldn't say it. Wouldn't say it.  
  
He was alive. He was here. It was no fable from her mind. He wasn't like Brandon, couldn't be like Brandon. He would wake up.  
  
The howls only fed her loathing. They spoke to her. They accused her. They tried to claim her son. She could hear them howling –  
"Come, Bran, come with us. Come, Bran, come run with us."  
  
She closed the window, she closed her ears, she closed her mind. But she could still hear them.  
  
She wasn't supposed to be there, the voice said. It tried to take her son, it did. But she fought back, and in that moment there was no pain, for in that moment, she was howling, too.  
  
  
 **Bargaining**  
  
She'd give them her life if that was going to bring things back to how they used to be.  
  
Never before had she felt so alone. Her father was gone, the husband she learned to love was gone, her daughters probably lost to her forever ... Sometimes it was all too much.  
  
If only she could trade it all like she did at the Twins. She would marry Lord Frey himself it it would bring peace to her soul. She would dress in mail and charge into battle if that would protect her dear Robb. She would even welcome Jon as her son if that would will back time before the king came to Winterfell.  
  
She would cry at night for the gods, any god, anybody really ... For them she would offer anything, to have her life as it was.  
  
She wanted her Sansa. Wanted to brush her soft hair. Wanted to tell her that life was not a song. She wanted her Arya. Wanted to tell her how beautiful she was. Wanted her to know the fighting wasn't honorable in the real world. She wanted her Bran. Wanted to tell him how happy she was that he's awake. Wanted to see him smile once more. She wanted her Rickon. Wanted to cuddle the baby she had left behind. Wanted to tell him how much she loved him.  
  
Oh, please, Mother. Let me come back, let them come back, let me make up to my misgivings. Let me see them once again.  
  
  
 **Depression**  
  
Her nails dig into her soft flesh, her wails pierce the sky. All she sees is blood. There was no point in fighting anymore. Let the maggots come to consume her whole. Maybe they'll eat the pain away together with what little was left of her life.  
  
She'll let go of the Maiden, she'll let go of the Mother, she'll let go of the Crone. Let the Stranger come pick her up. Let him cradle her in his arms, let him drag her to her fitting end.  
  
With the Stranger she'll walk. With Him, she'll come for the ones who are about to die. With Him, she'll bring death to the realm of men.  
  
She'll be punished, but she'll punish, too.  
  
Let others pray to the Father. Let others scream for the Warrior in battle. Let others ask the Smith for strength.  
  
From this day onward, she was the Stranger himself.  
  
Closing her eyes, for what she believes to be the last time, she swears she can hear howling again. Surely they would come, how else would Robb go back to Winterfell? And like last time, she howled once more, for in the end she was a Stark, too.  
  
  
 **Acceptance**  
  
She didn't know who she was anymore, or even what she was. But it mattered not. For now she would stain the sky with blood.  
  
She was alone. But never lonely. She was the mother of wolves. Their howls followed her through the night. Their warm fur kept her heart in place. Their claws made her strong. Their teeth didn't let her forget.  
  
"Where are my cubs?" she'll whisper to the wolfs.  
  
"Give me my cubs," she'll demand of the dark night.  
  
"Who took my cubs?" she'll ask to her own shadow.  
  
No matter. She's the mother of wolves. She'll bring them home.  
  
But where was home?  
  
She needed no home. She was home.  
  
She needed blood. Blood will bring them home.  
  
Whose blood will bring them home?  
  
My blood. My blood will bring them home.  
  
The little children remember.  
  
The Seven remember.  
  
The wolves remember.  
  
I remember.  
  
For I am the mother of wolves, and I'll bring them home.


End file.
